A Crushed Flower in His Hand
by The Mushroom Fairy
Summary: Salome finally talks himself into playing it suave with Chris, but someone beats him to the punch and it leaves him heartbroken. Complete.


"Lady Chris, would you possibly consider granting me permission to escort you to dinner?"

_No, no... That sounds far too...diplomatic. This is dinner, not a treatise._

"Chris, can I take you to dinner?"

_Too obvious!_

"Milady Chris--no, _dearest_ Chris..."

_Way too personal._

"Yo, Chris! Wanna go grab some chow?"

_Bah! It's hopeless._

Salome stood in front of the mirror in his quarters, scowling at his reflection. He was trying to think of a suave (yet discrete) way to ask Lady Chris to dinner. After three-quarters of an hour of practice he had only succeeded at making a fool of himself. He couldn't tell if his face was red from embarrassment or frustration. He was almost ready to give up. Almost, but not quite.

Shaking himself and trying to look casual yet somewhat debonair, Salome gazed into the mirror. _If Borus and Percival can argue incessantly about who has the right to court milady, why can't I? _But his feelings were more genuine than theirs. They were boys with crushes on their captain; Salome was a grown man, fully capable of knowing what he wanted out of life. Chris would certainly take him more seriously.

He tried to smile charmingly, but his lower lip trembled with nervousness, a reflex he hated but nonetheless could not control. _Get a grip, man! The worst she can say is "no."_ And that would be more than enough to make him to bury his head in the sand and never again see the light of day.

The clock struck six, and Salome started, dropping the rose he held in his sweating palm. As he bent to pick it up, he immediately began to have second thoughts--for the dozenth time, to be precise--about almost everything he'd planned up to this point. His palms were too sweaty to touch the lady's hand--especially if he succeeded in kissing her delicate fingers the way he was hoping to. He should wear gloves. And perhaps a rose was too romantic for a first date that was really less than a date. A carnation should do, and it was still a lovely choice. But maybe he should have worn the green cape after all...

After another quarter of an hour spent choosing a suitable pair of gloves and plucking a fresh carnation, Salome was ready. Well...ready to spend another fifteen minutes practicing his line in front of the mirror. But then at last he was off on his quest for the fair Lady Chris's--

_permission to escort--no, dammit!_

--favor, carrying a carnation. He recited his little line again and again as he made his way up Blossom Street, saying it softly but walking fast enough to run out of breath by the time he reached the Lightfellow home, so he took a few nervous minutes to try and slow his wildly beating heart, to no avail. Eventually he opened the gate, holding his breath at its squeak, then started up the little path to the house.

_May I please--no, I'm not begging. I would like to request--no, no.... Would you accompany me to dinner, Chris? _Yes! _That's the one!_

Salome raised his fist and gave the front door a surprisingly steady knock. For a moment his heart stopped beating, and he waited breathlessly until her heard movement inside the house. He took a step back from the door, hiding the carnation behind his back with one hand and covering his mouth with the other as he quietly cleared his throat. When the door opened, however, he met not with the fair lady Chris, but the family butler.

"Ah, Sir Salome! How wonderful to see you again." The elderly gentleman smiled with genuine friendliness.

"Worthington! It's good to see you, as well. Is milady about?"

"She's here, entertaining a guest."

"Oh?" Salome couldn't mask his disappointment.

"It's nothing of great importance, just an acquaintance, I do believe. I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you stopped by. She'd be quite pleased. They're behind the house having tea, in the gazebo, if you care to drop by."

"Thank you, Worthington. I believe I shall." Salome began to turn. "Good evening."

"Good evening, sir," Worthington returned with a smile and a nod, softly closing the door as he disappeared inside.

Salome took a deep breath, feeling somehow more calm, though disappointed to not be alone with Chris for the evening. Still, it would be nice to see her relaxed and out of uniform, like a proper lady, even with other company present. Following a side path, the knight smiled faintly and sighed at the scent of roses coming from the garden ahead. The carnation had been a good choice, he decided. Milady must have more than her fair share of roses. She would appreciate the thought he had put into his simple gift, surely. Salome unlatched the gate that led into the gardens, following the rose bushes to the gazebo.

The evening air was peacefully cool, carrying the scent of flowers and the light of fireflies. It was perfectly romantic. Approaching the white gazebo from the side, Salome detected the sounds of two persons speaking softly, but for a moment hesitated to clear his throat or otherwise make his presence known. Instead he slowed his pace, smiling at the sound of Chris's melodic voice, holding the carnation to his heart. But when he neared the doorway into the little wooden shelter, he came to a sight that made him jump back behind the bushes, his eyes wide and his heart throbbing with anguish as he watched the scene unfold.

"--thou art more fair than any rose in thy garden."

"Such pretty words!"

"Pretty words for a pretty lady."

"Yes, but who wrote them?"

"Are you suggesting I borrowed my material?"

"No; I'm assuming you stole it."

The pair laughed. Genuine laughter, not scornful. They were having a good time.

"You know, Chris, this is the first time I've been alone with a woman in quite a while."

"That one was quite pathetic; you must have come up with it on your own."

"Don't be absurd! I'm telling you the truth."

"What about your mistress?"

Nash sighed. "I said a _woman_, not a _shrew_."

"Oh!" the lady cried mockingly. "Then I suppose I should feel honored."

Nash stepped very close, closer than they already stood, and took Chris's hand, giving it a soft kiss as he gazed into her eyes. "It is I who should feel honored." As Nash's arms wound around Chris's waist, hers wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. The couple leaned to one another until their lips met in a gentle kiss.

Salome tried not to let out a cry at what he beheld, forcing himself to reel away and walk backwards until the gazebo was almost out of sight, finally turning around and staggering through first the garden gate, then the front gate, and away from the Lightfellow estate.

Somehow the broken knight made it home, feeling as though his very heart had been shattered. He fell to his knees before the fireplace, his hands clenched into fists as he pounded the floor in torment. He laid there all night grieving, and in the morning he was still clutching a crushed flower in his hand.


End file.
